Trusting
by Tashash
Summary: Another multi-chapter fic written for the Fenris fan thread on BSN. Not realted to 'Snowstorm'. All chapters bar the last were written before the games release, so spoilers and inconsistencies. Fenris/F!Hawke. Enjoy.
1. Trust

**Trust.**

Anders stormed down the staircase from the inns private rooms and into the common area, his face twisted in annoyance. The rest of their companions turned to look at the peeved Mage.

"Told you so" Isabela lazily commented "If he won't even let Merrill treat his wounds you've got no chance." Her piece said the former ship's captain tuned back to the card game.

"Read 'em and weep, boys."

Varric and Carver moaned, having lost – yet again.

"If you're playing another round deal me in. Although I figure I've probably used up all my luck by not getting chopped into itty-bitty bits."

Hawke sighed and tuned to her fellow Mage as he sat and was dealt in.

"He wouldn't let you do _anything_?" She asked "Those Templar's nearly killed him!"

"Not a blasted thing; wouldn't even open the door; think he's trying to bandage himself up though." Anders replied.

Hawke sighed again and turned to Merrill pleadingly. The Keeper was the closest thing to a friend that the ex-slave had.

"You can't talk some sense into him?"

"Tried, I was at him even before we got back here but he just walked up to his room shut the door in my face and locked it." Was the sad reply.

She winced. Merrill had a heart of pure gold and a truly tender soul, but even she was getting tired of trying the break through their companion's cold exterior. But something had to be done.

Hawke rose from her seat and retrieved _Parlathan_, and felt the eyes of every one of their companions on her. It disturbed her slightly and she felt the need to say something.

"I'll be dammed if I let that stubborn bloody elf bleed to death in his room with three Mages capable of casting healing on the floor below." She stated, and moved to the stairs.

"Your funeral." Was Varric's comment.

As she set the first foot on the stairs Carver grabbed her arm.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Her brother asked.

"Not really but it has to be done." She replied, pulling her arm from his grip.

"Just...just be careful Navessa. If you need help call out."

It was rare these days for him to use her given name and she stopped to look at him fully. He was afraid, her poor baby brother, afraid of something happening to yet another sister – he had taken the death of his twin so hard. She brushed a hand through his hair and stooped to kiss his brow, just as she had done when they were children.

"I will, promise."

She climbed the short set of stairs and headed to the first door next to the landing. It was locked, just as Merrill had said.

"Fenris!" She yelled and hammered on the door.

"Go away Hawke!"Came the response.

"Fenris either you open that door or I will."

Silence. She counted to thirty in her head. Still nothing.

"Fine." She muttered to herself. She braced herself and kicked just where the latch attached to the woodwork. The door flew open, the cheap latch broken.

Fenris sat on his bed, stripped to his loincloth but glaring and defiant. His skin was covered with long cuts, deep bruises and blood smeared across his skin. Tangles of bandages were strewn across the sheets. Just as Anders had said the elf had been trying to bind his own wounds – not easy, since the set of his right hand indicated at least a fracture, possibly a break.

"_I told you to go away_" The white-haired elf hissed, venom in every Tervinter-accented syllable.

"And I told you to open the door or I would." Was her deadpan reply. He snarled wordlessly in answer.

"Leave me alone!"

Hawke started screaming at him, she was her wits end with what to do with the man.

"How can I possibly do that? You are _wounded, bleeding_ and unless my healing skills have failed me your wrist is _fractured_. Those Templars beat you near to death when they brought you down, eight to one..."

She trailed off; during her tirade everything about Fenris had changed. The set of his shoulders was no longer defiant but cowed, his head bent, his body hunched and his arms wrapped around himself.  
><em><br>'I...I have frightened him. What had that magister done to him that simply being yelled at would cause this?'_

She moved to him, noticing how he flinched at her approach. She knelt before the bed and put _Parlathan _aside, making herself smaller and less threatening. His head was bowed, his face hidden by that white hair. She spoke now in a soft, gentle whisper.

"I know you don't like to be touched casually, I know you don't like magic or mages, but I just want to help Fenris – I just want to _help_you. Please, just for this can you trust me?"

His head rose slightly and moss-green eyes stared into bird-of-prey yellow. She held the gaze, letting him search it for what he was looking for, waiting for his decision. Slowly he held out his injured wrist to her, their gazes still locked. She took it, cradling it tenderly.

She whispered the healing incantation, feeling the hot rush of magic travel from her hands to his, watching the emerald light of it wash across up his arm and across his skin. The Lyrium of his brands glowed at the touch of magic. His wounds closed, the bruises faded and the wrist reset.

"Thank you Fenris." She murmured.

She turned his hand over, checking that the bone had been fully and properly reset. The light played over the Lyrium in his skin.

"Do they hurt?" She asked, suddenly needing to know.

"They...ache...sometimes." Was his hesitant reply.

She lightly stroked her thumbs over the branding, but stopped when he gasped.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to hurt you!"

She felt horrible, and after the trust he had just shown her...

"It...It didn't hurt...Pl-Please don't stop."


	2. Witchcraft

"What do you mean _you lost him_?"

"I mean that he wasn't in position for the ambush and now we can find him Hawke." Explained Sebastian.

Fenris was _never_ not in position, and he did not just 'disappear'.

"And how exactly do you lose someone _who glows in the Maker-dammed dark_!" She snarled.

The noble looked taken aback, and Hawke reined in her emotions. It wasn't Sebastian's fault – she knew exactly who to blame.

The Magister.

"Varric!" She yelled.

"Right here Hawke." Sensing her anger the Dwarf was unusually deferential.

"I need your spy network."

"On it. Hawke?"

"Yes Varric?"

"Don't do anything _stupid_."

She sat on his bed; she could smell him on the sheets, in the air. This was _his_ room. And it would be again.

"_It...It didn't hurt...Pl-Please don't stop."_

Navessa Hawke replayed those words in her mind. That night Fenris had trusted her, had allowed her to see the frightened, broken man beneath the warrior. Since then if he had needed healing he had come to her; and in those moments he had let the mask drop.

The Magister had done more than brand him, had done more than torture him. The few times he had spoken of his former master Fenris had revealed it was more than experimentation that he wanted the elf for.

"_He is...obsessed with me. I don't understand it."_

And now the bastard had him back.

'_Not for long, I promise you Fenris.'_

She went downstairs; Varric should have some news by now.

As always, the Dwarf was correct. A seedy, run down bar in Lowtown going by the name _The Mages Staff_ – The irony made her sick. And a swaggering idiot of a bounty hunter who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Isabela had a location out of him in seconds and the fool didn't even know he'd been conned.

Ten. Ten to one to take the elf down. She was proud of him for that and the six that had survived were going to find their celebration cut short. She would make sure of that.

But now she had a visit to make. She gripped _Parlathan_.

The air smelt of cooked and charred flesh as her chain lightning felled the last guard. Her death siphon sucked up the last vestiges of entropic energy from the corpses, replenishing her Mana, when it finished she cancelled it. There would be no more guards now. She would have to rely on the Lyrium potions tucked in her belt.

She was in the depths of the tower now, facing the ominous door that led to the Magisters private sanctuary. She concentrated on the wards, tearing them apart like cobwebs. A fireball took care of the actual door.

She could hear screaming.

'_Fenris'_

She ran along the corridor and stopped short at the sight before her.

Fenris, laid on a stone slab stripped to his britches, his brands glowing, his back arched and eyes nearly rolled back in his head, sweat beading his skin as his hands clenched in agony.

The Magister stood over him, a claw-like hand held over his chest. He snarled something in Tervinter and Fenris screamed again and then collapsed, eyes closed and whimpering.

"_**Enough!**_"

The Magister tuned and Fenris' eyes opened. The Magister smiled.

"Well, it appears a rescue has been mounted my dear." He purred. "But you just stay there and let me deal with this."

"Hawke" Was the hoarse whisper "Run, please." Fenris begged, twisting against bonds she could not see. The Magister laughed.

"After all the trouble she had gone to? Pet, don't be so rude." He slid a hand up Fenris' ankle to his knee as he walked toward her, the hand then stroking from knee to inner thigh, the proprietary touch made her temper flare.

"Do not touch him." She warned. The Magister appeared taken aback.

"He belongs to me, _child_. I can do with him as I wish. And I do not appreciate being ordered and threatened in my own home." The purr was now a snarl.

The sound of heavily armoured boots running and jingling chainmail filtered down to the chambers.

"That would be my back up guard – did you truly think I would leave myself so unprotected? And now I think it is time for you to leave, Hawke." The Magister grinned.

She waited. Yells, screams and the clash of weapons could now be heard. If she listened closely she could hear Bianca firing. Hawke was not _stupid_.

"And that would be _your_ back up meeting_ my_ back up, Magister." She said brightly.

"I know you won't release Fenris. And, frankly, allowing evil such as yours to exist does not sit well with me. One of us will leave this place, with him. Can you accept that _old man_?" Her voice dripped honeyed poison.

His eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting in rage. He might have been handsome, in an elderly, scholarly way if he were not so obviously tainted with rage and evil.

"Very well then" He spat. "Mage to mage." Lighting shot from the blackened staff he wielded.

She was ready with shield. Hawke had no expectations that this would be a fair fight. She sent a stonefist back in retaliation, following it with Horror. The first spell knocked him down, but he brushed off the second.

He threw back Disorient and she felt the world spin, but she had fought in worse conditions. She called forth a stinging swarm, and downed a Lyrium potion while he was distracted. The power flared across her limbs, she cast spell might and spell shield with it, then froze him from foot to waist with winters grasp. As the Magister melted himself free she gulped another potion.

She wasn't fast enough, and a flame blast washed over her; the spell shield took most of it but she felt the flames lick at her skin. She threw a Curse of Mortality back and exulted as it stuck. He cast a blizzard, but she cancelled it with an inferno. They were both sweating and panting with the exertion, mage rarely fought mage but when they did it was just as deadly a combat as between warriors.

Hawke threw an arcane bolt to distract the Magister as she drank another potion. She was putting everything she had into this and her Mana was draining fast. She summoned a crushing prison at the same time he cast force shield. The two spells fought against each other, an immovable object meeting an irresistible force. Hawke knew what would happen.

The Magister collapsed and the resulting shockwave threw her into the wall, Hawke felt her arm break. She rolled and pulled another potion out, using it to power regeneration; she felt the bone knit back together. The Magister was staggering back to his feet. The regeneration had drained her and her hand dove into her belt pouch.

She was out of potions.

The Magister knew; he limped towards her, a sneer twisting his features into a horrible mask.

"Your Mana is depleted" He rasped "and you have nothing to replenish it with."

He stalked forward, looming over her.

"You would have been better off letting me have what is mine. Now, should I simply kill you outright? Or maybe make you suffer? You _did_ invade my house and insult me after all. But what would cause you more pain, I wonder – your own agony? Or his?" He gestured to Fenris, limp and drained on the slab, watching the confrontation with horror in his eyes.

He bent and gripped her face in his hand, nails biting into her cheeks.

"What would it do to you, I wonder; if I was to make you watch me take him?" He hissed.

Hawke's arm lashed out in a half-circle blur. For a moment everything froze, and then the Magister sunk to his knees, his hands clasped to his throat and his eyes on her hand.

The knife was tiny; the blade only as long as her littlest finger, but it was gored nearly to the hilt.

Most mages would only use such a thing to gather and chop herbs. She kept it with her at all times - it had been a gift.

'_Thank you, my dearest sister._'

Hawke kept it wickedly sharp, Aveline had recommended the whetstone.

"We mages forget, with all the power that we wield – that we bleed and die as any other creature."

Vibrantly red life blood was flowing over and between the Magisters fingers; his mouth was opening and closing but he could not cast, she had severed his vocal chords.

"This is a good death" She said gently "Better than you deserve, accept it." She waited as the blood flowed, as he collapsed on his side, as his eyes filmed over, until every vestige of life left him. It was done.

She walked to Fenris and he reached for her. She gathered him into her arms as he sobbed. She pressed a kiss to his brow and held him.

"It's over, you're safe now." She told him.


	3. Smile

One week. One week and Fenris had not smiled, at all, even _once_.

Ever since his abduction by his formers master the elf had been...quiet. It was not as if he had ever been very vocal, but never had it seemed as if he was holding back his opinion. Hawke had not realised how much she could come to miss those things.

That deep, calm voice. The sardonic twist of his lips.

What the Magister had done to him had left no bruises, no scars or any other physical injuries but the elf was wounded; and in a way that magic could not heal. And now he was hiding in his room again.

And she did not know what to _do _about it.

Navassa Hawke felt helpless, and it left her furious and terrified; the last time she had felt like this she had lost her baby sister...

She held the little herb knife in her hand, the blade cleaned of blood and shiny again. If only people were so easy to return to such a state.

"Bethy, what do I do?" She whispered.

"I'm their leader, they look to me to fix this, fix _him_, just like they looked to me to get him back. But that...finding him and rescuing him was the easy part – It's something I knew how to do. I don't know what to do now...How do I help him? He's in such pain..."

'_The last time he was in pain you went up there and fixed it, no matter what he said.'_

"But this isn't the same..."

'_It isn't all that different either.'_

"I have to do something. Soon."

At least he hadn't locked the door, breaking the latch once had been enough annoyance. She pulled the door open a crack.

"Fenris, may I come in?" She called.

"Yes." Was the quiet answer. Time was he would have made a joke about her breaking in anyway. She missed that.

He was sitting on his bed, wearing only his leggings. Hawke fought down a blush and was angry at herself – She had seen him in nothing more than his smallclothes before now!

The Lyrium shone in the twilight.

He looked...ethereal, not of this world...delicate.

She didn't _want_ to see him like this – He was not _delicate_, he was a warrior without equal. He had survived things that would have killed a thousand other men!

But _this_, this last torment seemed to be the last thing he could take...

'_NO! This will not beat him, I will not let it.'_

"Hawke, if there is nothing that you need me for I would appreciate being left alone."

The quiet grief in his voice stunned her.

'_But what is it that __**he**__ needs?'_

She moved to the bed, knelt and took his hand gently, her fingers tracing over the Lyrium patterns; as she had done that night – it seemed like so long ago.

He stared at her, seemingly stunned, but he didn't pull away.

"What do you _need_ Fenris? Please tell me what I can do for you." She asked earnestly. "Anything in my power to give I will, just please, please don't hide away, please smile again."

The silence stretched on for an eternity.

"Touch me." He asked, so quietly she almost did not hear him, almost thought it was her own thoughts...

"When he touched me all I could feel was fear and revulsion. When others touched me all I felt was an echo of those feelings. When you touch me...I feel...good...safe..." He trailed off, the faintest of blushes gilding his cheekbones.

Her fingers moved without her thinking, her thumb brushing over the blush, feeling the heat of it in his skin. Her other hand moved to cradle his head and she pressed her forehead to his.

"Whatever you wish. Anything in my power to give, I promise, forever."

And Fenris smiled once again.

"Thank you." He whispered. Hawke kissed his forehead and pulled back, moving to sit on the bed behind him.

"What are you doing?" Fenris asked his voice slightly hesitant.

"Something my mother used to do for my father, just relax." She replied.

She placed her hands on his elbows and stroked firmly up to his shoulders, where she began to knead the muscles. He groaned and his head fell forward when she began to pull and rub at his neck.

"Too hard?" She asked, worried.

"Nooo, just right. Ah – there!" He exclaimed as her fingers pressed to where his skull met his neck. She slid her fingers though his hair and back down again.

She moved back to his shoulders after a few minutes. His muscles were firm and warm beneath her hands, the Lyrium glimmered, his tanned skin was soft, and his hair had been silky. She lost herself in her ministrations, moving lower and lower down his back. His breathing was even and gentle, with the occasional groan as she worked at a stiff or sore part. There was something peaceful in it, in giving comfort to another.

"One day in summer...a light comes to me...opens up my heart...and leads me to...a place where sadness...melts like winter snow...a place full of faith... a little piece of heaven...The sun shines up...in a sapphire sky...fly away my...butterfly..."

Hawke was doing something she had not done for a long time. Hawke was singing.

"One night in summer...the light comes again...it brings me hope...delivers me from pain...and shows me gently...when night turns into day...and spring into summer...you will find a way...The moon shines bright...in the starry night...fly away my...butterfly..."

She wasn't even aware she was doing it.

"You will find a way...you will find a way...you will find a way..."

Fenris gripped her hand as the last words faded.

"Where did you learn that song?" He asked.

"Bethany." Hawke smiled "We made it up as children. I used to sing it to her as a lullaby, or when she was sad...I'm sorry, it just kind of happened..."

He pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand.

"I have never heard you sing before. I enjoyed it."

Hawke was glad he couldn't see her blushing.

"I...err...it's late I should go to bed – I mean, go to my bed, lots to do tomorrow." She stuttered.

"Will you come see me tomorrow evening?" Fenris asked, slightly hesitant.

Hawke smiled. "Whatever you need, Fenris. That was what I promised wasn't it?"

The door closed behind her and Fenris whispered to the dark room

"What if what I need is _you_?"


	4. Need

He _needed_ her.

Fenris didn't remember ever being as close to another as he did to Hawke.

It was possible that he never actually had, how could one possibly feel this way more than once? He had never met anyone even remotely like her, that he was _sure_ of – Thedas could not possibly contain more than one Navessa Hawke.

At first she had just been the means to an end, a third party hired by Anso to keep the hunters busy. He had been glad of her understanding of his situation and he had barely managed to hide his shock when she offered her help with Denerius. He had wondered how such a naive or kind person had managed to survive.

The fight through the mansion had answered that question. Even facing the Demonspawn that Denerius had summoned she was brilliant. She was as powerful a Mage as his former master had ever been, with a quick eye and an intelligent mind. Kind she might be, Hawke was no pushover. That power had worried him for some time; he was not at ease around Mages and magic.

They had not found Denerius, Fenris had been angry about that. He wanted his freedom, to no longer have to run or hide and that could only be accomplished by his former master's death. He was not sure what had possessed him to ask to remain with her, possibly his heart had known what it needed long before he had.

He had kept apart from the others as best he could, it wasn't just that he disliked being touched, there was simply too much he didn't want others to know about him, too much even he didn't know anymore. His time on the run had seriously damaged his sociability. If they didn't get close they couldn't hurt him. He had been adamant about not letting anyone get close.

Until that night, when she had broken down his door in order to take care of his wounds. He had been certain that he could take care of himself, but his injured wrist had made things hard...Truth be told if Hawke hadn't shown up he would have been in trouble. But he couldn't admit it then, had told her to get out, she had refused and started to scream at him.

In that moment he had seen a darker side to her, frustration and anger, and he had acutely felt how vulnerable he was at that moment. He remembered what Denerius could be like when angered and what it had meant for Fenris; he had fearfully reverted back to the broken slave he had been.

But she had let the anger fade, had once again been gentle and caring. Had asked him to trust her and for once in a very long time, he had. He could vividly remember her hands cradling his wrist, the warm rush of her magic through him. It had startled him, when Denerius had used his magic on him it had burned through him; a fiery agony. Hawke's magic was like warm sunlight washing into him.

He had been enthralled by the sensation, and when she had asked about his brands he had answered her without question. When her thumbs had ghosted over them the shock of actually feeling pleasure had made him gasp. Her worry that she had hurt him had undone him.

After that he had let her heal him when he needed it, and the way she smiled at him for it was worth the risk. He had begun to consider her a friend, to open up to her and it had seemed to make his life a little brighter. He would even go as far to say he was happy.

And then Denerius had found him again. The mercenaries had been careful and uncompromising. He had fought as much for her as he had fought for himself, but had still lost.

In the few hours of his captivity two things had terrified Fenris the most. That Hawke wouldn't come and the she would. His thoughts still shied away from those hours. Denerius had first tried to talk him into staying, honeyed words that had repulsed him. When that failed the mage had tried to force his compliance, and it still caused Fenris to wake in a cold sweat remembering that it _would have succeeded_...

But for Hawke, running into the room and commanding the mage to stop. And then his fear had been all for her, Denerius was powerful – what if he hurt her? What if he _killed_ her? He has begged her to run, realising in that moment that he cared what happened to her more than himself. It was not entirely unselfish – without her, the one person he could trust, the one friend he had, what would he do?

The sickeningly intimate touch to his leg had made him shudder, but Hawke's anger had warmed him. And her foiling of Denerius' trap had made him proud. Hawke was far too clever to fall for that trick. Her assurance facing his old master, her wit even in such a situation; she was so much stronger than he had given her credit for.

She had fought for him, as he lay bound down by Denerius' magic and all he had wanted was to help her. When the shockwave had thrown her into the wall his heart had stopped. When it seemed as if Denerius had won it had broken. He did not hear what the magister said to her, but the flash of the knife in her hand had left him in no doubt what she thought of it.

The death of the caster had broken his bonds, but he was too weak to do more than cling to her. He had felt no shame in crying in front of her. She did not judge, she only comforted.

In the days after though, he had felt so _broken_. Nightmares plagued his sleep and it felt as if every shadow held unknown terrors. And from that fear was born disgust – Denerius was dead, what did he have to fear anymore? He had been too ashamed to come to Hawke with his feelings, but as always, she had known and come to him. He had tried to send her away, but as always, she did not listen.

"_What do you need Fenris? Please tell me what I can do for you." _

"_Anything in my power to give I will, just please, please don't hide away, please smile again."_

Those words...the absolute conviction in them. She had _meant_ it; he could ask anything of her. But he had only wanted one thing, the breaking of the one barrier he still kept.

He allowed her to touch him in order to heal him, but it was never more than hand to hand contact. Her holding him after his abduction was the most contact he had ever allowed. And now what he wanted, needed, was more.

But he still had been embarrassed to ask, had blushed as he did. Her thumb brushing his flaming cheek and her hand cradling his head had been soothing, her forehead pressed to his and the kiss left behind had been a benediction.

When she had sat behind him he had been nervous, not knowing what she intended, but her hands kneading his shoulders and neck had negated his nerves. The warmth of her hands and the gentle pressure had felt wonderful. Her hands running through his hair had sent shivers down his spine.

The song had stunned him, Hawke had never before sung. Her voice was slightly husky and it broke a little at the high notes but to him it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. The fact that it was her lost little sisters song that she sang to him made him happy – that she had shared something that meant so much to her with him.

Overcome he had kissed her palm and while he could not _see_ her blush she was close enough for him to feel the heat from her cheeks. She had stuttered her goodbye and he was afraid he had overstepped some unwritten rule. But when he had asked her to come back the next evening her smile was as bright as ever. He realised that he had never seen Hawke with a..._companion_.

Neither of them were regular players in 'The Game' it seemed. Something was growing between them. Fenris was afraid to even give a name to it, for fear it would cause it to wither and die. But he wanted it, he needed it.

Fenris _needed_ Hawke.


	5. Rooftop

It was a rare thing for their little band to indulge in frivolous activity, aside from the coin it cost they were usually involved in something or other and needed to be sober or they were laid up as a result of the aforementioned something.

So for their whole group to be in a tavern, drinking, was an unusual thing. The owner didn't mind, they were quieter than many mercenary groups, paid their tab and didn't bother the other patrons or waitresses unduly.

Hawke had handed over the pouch of coin, said they deserved a break and a bit of fun and told them all (with an emphasis on _all_ directed at him) to have it. And have it they had. Carver and Merrill were slumped against each other, both having consumed too much alcohol to stay conscious. But they would come to no harm with Sebastian and Anders nearby, even if they were engaged in a morose intoxicated competition of "My Life is Worse than Your Life". Isabela had done some outrageous lying to get the prince/priest to drink, and even with his wariness concerning the pirate she had won him over, Sebastian had forgotten the prime rule.

'_Never trust Isabela, never.'_

Aveline was at the bar, nursing a tankard of ale and conversing with Donnic. Varric and Isabela were intoxicated enough to perform some sort of bawdy song about a Templar and a Mage to the delight of the crowd, the Dwarf and the Pirate weren't half bad. But Fenris still preferred Hawke's voice.

He looked for her, last he had seen she had been at the bar with Aveline and Donnic, who was profusely apologising for the 'courting' incident. But she was not there now. He tramped down a thrill of alarm. Hawke was fine, everything was fine, he just _had to find her_. It had not gotten any easier, dealing with the way he felt for her. Hiding it made it worse, but he did not want to frighten her off by being too forward.

He slid out of his chair and made his way over to Aveline at the bar, it was most likely she knew where Hawke had gone. He waited politely for a pause in her conversation with her husband.

"Would you happen to know where Hawke has gone?" He asked.

"Oh, our fearless leader said it was getting a bit too lively in here for her; there's a nice rooftop garden here, just go up those stairs." Aveline explained, only slightly affected by the ale.

Ah, that sounded like Hawke. She was prone to slipping off to be on her own.

He thanked Aveline, nodded to Donnic and climbed the stairs leading to the little rooftop garden. A half-moon gave plenty of light but a few lanterns had also been lit, attracting moths to flutter around the glow. A few scented candles of the kind used to chase away biting insects flickered around a divan, which Hawke lounged on; simply staring off into the night.

The moonlight was kind to her pale complexion, giving it a sort of glow. It shone over her dark hair and illuminated her sweet features. She looked so peaceful, her yellow-brown eyes were contemplative and he almost hated to disturb her.

He went to walk away, he had found her and she was fine.

"Fenris?" Came the quiet call, she must have heard his footsteps. He turned back.

"I had wondered where you had gone." He explained at her curious look, she smiled in response.

"I felt the need for a little quiet; it's quite lovely up here."

"Well, now that I know I shall leave you." He nodded to her, a little sad. It might have been nice to sit with her in the cool of the night...

"There is plenty of room" Hawke called back, and Fenris stopped. "If you want to stay..."

"I do." He smiled and she made room for him on the seat.

They did not speak, nor did they need to. It seemed a shame to ruin the quiet of the night, the call of crickets and frogs the only noise besides the humming of muted revelry in the bar below. The stars above were mirrored by the lights of Kirkwall below. It was nice to simply sit and be.

And then Hawke started giggling, Fenris turned to her; curious as to the source of her amusement.

"I'm sorry, but you...you have a moth in your hair!" She laughed "Here, let me..."

She pulled herself up on the divan so that she was leaning over him and he felt her fingers brush gently through a lock of his hair, her hand came back and she showed him the little brown moth before it fluttered away. Hawke turned to watch it and Fenris became aware of just how close they were.

Hawke turned back to look at him, and it stole his breath to realise that her lips _almost _touched his, just a little closer...

She closed the distance, pressing her lips to his and he did not waste a moment to question it, kissing back and revelling in the soft warmth of her kiss; it seemed that an age passed before it ended.

"I...I have wanted...to do that...for a long time" Hawke admitted shyly. Fenris gently traced her lips with his fingers.

"So have I."


End file.
